In which Sherlock and John Must Infiltrate a Gay Resort
by TheLonelyPsycho
Summary: Title sums it up. Sherlock and John must pretend to be a gay couple to locate a felon within a gay resort. Confusion ensues.


Hello . Ugh it's been a while. Anyhoo, this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction in a while. So if you don't like it, don't kill me. And if you do, (or if you don't) please comment!

Now if you'll excuse me, it's currently midnight and I'd better head to bed. Enjoy!

* * *

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! I only texted you five minutes ago!" Griped Detective Inspector Lestrade as he hurriedly attempted to get his mess of an office under control. The attempt was futile though, as it appeared as if all of Scotland Yard had decided to leave their paperwork on his already wobbling desk.

The tall man seemed unfazed by any of this as he seated himself in one of the chairs in front of Lestrade. "You did tell me that you needed to see me immediately, Jeff."

"It's Greg." Muttered the graying man as he sat down on the other side of the desk. "And you've probably guessed that I've got a case for you. Now, it all starts with-"

"I don't guess." Sherlock said with contempt. "Guessing is for those who lack the patience or skill to come up with a definite answer. I, Lestrade, deduce."

Greg sighed. Why he even bothered with this man was beyond him. But, pushing aside any urges he had to punch the legendary Mr. Holmes, he continued his report. "As I was about to say, witnesses have spotted a man named Neil Elliston checking into a resort near Torquay. Mr. Elliston has been running from authority ever since the attack near the Cotswolds about three years ago. We now know where he is staying, and I need you and John to go get him for us."

Sherlock sighed. "If you know where he is, why don't you just go get him yourself? It hardly seems like my issue."

"Well, that itself is the issue. Neil Elliston managed to escape from the Cotswolds crisis before we could see him, so all we have to go by are witness reports of his appearance. If anyone can find him from this, it would be you."

Lestrade could see interest flicker in Sherlock's eyes. "I'm assuming that he uses false identities?"

Lestrade grimaced. "The bastard checks into hotels using fake names. He always escapes before we can get to him, somebody always gets the word out. But I'm sure we can do it this time."

"And where is this man located?" Asked Sherlock.

"Here's the thing..." Greg could hardly suppress a laugh. "Mr. Elliston seems to enjoy certain company."

The consulting detective gave him a blank stare. "And?"

"He's staying in a gay resort in Torquay." Lestrade said, waiting for some reaction from Sherlock, but his expression remained calm.

"Give me the address, and I'll tell John."

After jotting down the directions, Lestrade watched Sherlock stand up and turn to leave. "Sherlock, wait."

Sherlock paused at the door. "What is it?"

"When you say that you're going to tell John...I'm guessing that you mean you'll tell him after you get to the resort?"

"Obviously." The detective said as he walked out the door, the bottom of his trenchcoat fluttering out of sight.

* * *

It had been a long bus ride.

John could hardly believe that three hours ago he had been sitting in his chair at 221b. He had been about to get a little shut-eye when Sherlock came crashing in, telling him to pack his bags and that they were going to be gone for a few days...not that he would tell John where they were going.

So here they were, three incredibly long, silent, shaky hours later. With all the wobbling of this bus, John was surprised that it was still allowed on the road at all. "Could you please tell me where we're going, Sherlock?"

"I've already told you, John. We're headed to Torquay. I'll explain in more detail when the time comes."

John swore under his breath. Couldn't he just get off this damn bus already? He swore that the old woman sitting near them was glaring at him.

Forty more wobbly, glare-filled, minutes later, the bus came to a screeching halt. "Torquay! Who's getting off?" Called the driver.

Rising to his feet, John prayed that the rest of this case (Whatever it may be) wasn't as terrible as this. Giving one final glare to the old woman as he passed her, John followed Sherlock to the stop outside of the bus, where the detective promptly hailed a taxi.

"Now could you tell me where we're going?" Asked John. Sherlock ignored him and proceeded to hand a square of paper with an address hastily scribbled on it to the cabbie. He could've sworn that it was Lestrade's handwriting.

Soon after, the taxi pulled up to one of the last places John would ever expect to go on a case. The building was gorgeous. With white walls and countless towers, the place looked more like a castle than a resort. "I could get used to a place like this." He thought, as he and Sherlock found their way inside.

With a soft orange hue to the walls and woodwork everywhere, the lobby had a warm, cozy feeling to it. Two men sat at the front desk, and they looked up as Sherlock and John approached. "Hello!" Called out one of them, a rather fit brunette. "Checking in?"

"Yes. It should be under 'Holmes', I believe." Said Sherlock.

"Excellent! Now, if I could just get your names?" He asked with a smile.

Before John could say anything, the detective cut in. "Sherlock and John Holmes." He said, ignoring the dumbfounded look from John.

The other man at the desk, a sandy haired man with glasses, noted John's stunned look. "Ah, I know how you feel, mate. It took me a while to adjust after I took David's name." He chuckled, giving the brunette a quick peck on the cheek.

"Oh stop fooling, Anthony." David said, playfully pushing his partner away. "Now, let me just get your room keys and you'll be all set!"

As he turned to get the keys, Anthony looked at the two men. "So...how long have you two been married?"

"Three months." Said Sherlock, putting an arm around John, who resisted the urge to pull said arm out of its socket.

"Well, congratulations!" Cheered Anthony. "I hope you two lovebirds have a great time here! This truly is the best resort for gay men that there is!"

"Not that we have much competition." Said David, returning with two room keys. "Here you go, room 221 as requested." If not for the current circumstances, John would've remarked about Sherlock's need to be in room 221 anywhere whenever possible.

Leaving the desk managers to greet two other men who had just arrived, John and Sherlock walked in total silence until they reached their room. Shutting the door behind them, John wheeled around and glared at Sherlock. "What the hell was that!?"


End file.
